


Fall Apart. Patch Me Up. Restart.

by thatmountainhermit



Category: Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, its pulling at hair, kind of, self harm (minor), self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmountainhermit/pseuds/thatmountainhermit
Summary: Logan is dead inside. Or is he?





	Fall Apart. Patch Me Up. Restart.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo I forgot my AO3 password. Which is why I haven't been replying to all of your lovely lovely feedback, which, by the way, thank you so so much! I love you all!

Logan remembered a time when Roman said that he was dead inside. It had been a joke, a quick quip in the middle of friendly banter during one of Thomas’ video. Logan knew that, logically. But it still stuck in his mind.

The more Logan thought about it, the more he supposed that Roman was correct. The other sides always cried at the sad parts during movies. But he didn’t. He let them cry on his shoulder, sure. He put on an appropriately sad expression. But he didn’t really feel sad. He didn’t feel the hot prick of tears, he didn’t feel any particular pain in his chest, he didn’t feel _anything_.

This fact became particularly poignant when he found Anxiety in the middle on an attack. They had been closer, even friends, and Logan had tried to help, he really did, but his words, his logic offered no comfort. In the end, Morality had found them, and taken over. He had even sent Logan away with an almost pitying smile.

Logan didn’t know what to do.

He had tried. He’d listened to the saddest songs, but no melody could inspire tears, no wailing singer brought heartache. Reading the novels brought nothing more than a vague fascination at the human psyche. But it was useless. He couldn’t feel anything. And because of that, he was useless to his friend.

He withdrew from Anxiety and their friendship, slowly but surely, coaxing him towards Morality instead. Morality, who was bright and sweet and felt just as much as Anxiety. Morality, who knew how to take care of him. Morality, the heart.

Logan pushed himself to work harder, knowing that if he didn’t at least do his job for Thomas, he might as well not exist. He stayed up later and later, frantically pushing himself to be useful, be useful, _be useful because you’re useless otherwise._

Until one night, he finally broke. It was late, just past 3 am, he had been working and working and he kept getting it wrong because he was useless _to everyone to Thomas to Anxiety you’resouseless-_

Something wet was on his cheeks, something hard was stuck in his throat, something was too tight, too tight around his lungs _he couldn’t breathe-_

Was this what emotion felt like? What it felt like to fall apart, to shatter into a million pieces?

He gasped, trying to get air in and taking off his glasses because his vision was already blurry with them, it wouldn’t matter if he took them anyway. His breathing was short, sharp, shallow, and every inhale hurt. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging sharply and finding a sense of relief when he felt it sting his scalp, tugging again, and again, and again, letting the sensation, the knowledge that he could feel, run through him. His chest was empty, his mind racing with the same thoughts _you’re useless you’re worthless you are_ **nothing**.

He didn’t know what time it was when the tears finally stopped, his face itchy and hot and uncomfortable. He remembered falling into bed, too tired to think anymore, before he slipped off into a restless sleep.

The next day Roman joked that Logan was almost like a machine.

Logan didn’t comment.


End file.
